“Mary, remain here until I know what is happening,” she said. “I will be back shortly.”
She raced outside, Brooks awkwardly following with the umbrella outstretched and covering her not at all. A groomsman had caught the reins of two bays, still wearing the splintered remains of the traces. The carriage must have turned over to break the wood in such a way.
Elizabeth’s mind whirled. She ran for the house, barely noticing Brooks behind her.
Mary was there, waiting. “What is it, Lizzy?”
“There has been an accident.”
Mrs. Quimby cried out in dismay, but steadied herself at once. “Come in, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, opening her arms to Elizabeth. “We shall send for your father.”
“I thank you, no,” Elizabeth said, her words clipped and sharp. “Mary, please send for Papa and the gentlemen. Tell them Jane was traveling from Netherfield, and that the horses returned without the carriage but are still wearing part of the traces.”
Both women paled, but Mary squared her shoulders. “We shall need hot water. Tea, baths . . . blankets. I will send for Papa, and then Mrs. Quimby and I will prepare the house to receive everyone.”
“What do you intend to do, Miss Lizzy?” Mrs. Quimby asked. “You must leave this to the men.”
“I will do whatever must be done, Mrs. Quimby,” Elizabeth replied, one foot already out the door. “You will not stop me.”
Mrs. Quimby opened her mouth, but did not speak, her expression revealing that she knew any argument would be a waste of breath. “Your father is going to turn me out for allowing you to leave, and well he should,” the woman fretted. “Be careful, Miss Elizabeth. Take as many of the men with you as you can find. Mr. Hill’s grandson will get word to the general at once.”
Elizabeth nodded and dashed back outside and to the back of the house where the stables were located.
Of the two of them, Jane was the horsewoman. Elizabeth had never felt secure on a side-saddle, and in these conditions, it would be far too dangerous to make the attempt. She rousted the stableboys, ordering them to use one of Papa’s saddles, then pulled herself up on the mare with more urgency than grace. She reached back between her legs to yank her skirt forward and then sat, which left her shamefully exposed from the knees down. She arranged her long coat over them to guard against the cold and damp, but otherwise could not bother to care, even as the stableboy looked away.
“Send as many able-bodied men as we have, Jack,” she told him, and was off.
The rain was nearly blinding but for the occasional lightning strike that illuminated the path before her. She was eventually aware of other riders some way behind her, but she kept a quick pace. There was no sign of them near home, but not two hundred feet onto the road to Netherfield, she saw it.
Elizabeth cried out and swung down from her mount.
This was the most beautiful part of the journey on a sunny day, for the road ran parallel to the river for a quarter of a mile. Unfortunately, the unobstructed view of the water meant that there was a long slope that ended in a sheer drop to the water some thirty feet below.
The edge of the road had collapsed, and the carriage had fallen with it, its descent halted only by two trees against which the roof of the vehicle had come to rest. Elizabeth drew near the portion of the earth that had crumbled away and strained to see.
By the time the men arrived, Elizabeth had already clambered halfway down the slick, muddy incline, approaching the carriage on a diagonal path where the earth was undisturbed. She saw no sign of Jane, which she hoped meant her sister was still inside and not that she had been tossed over the side.
“Jane!” she shouted as she drew near, but not too close, “we are here. Try not to move!”
There was no response, and Elizabeth whispered a prayer for both her sister and the coachman. She called out again.
“Miss Elizabeth!” cried Brooks from the road. “Is the carriage stable?”
She scuttled farther down, still a good fifteen feet wide of the site itself, to judge the conditions. She peered over what amounted to a cliff, her heart racing when she saw water and mud dripping from exposed roots. The softened ground and the impact of the accident had been enough to damage the trees, and Elizabeth could see from this angle that they were leaning slightly towards the river. The roof and an inch or two of the windows were hovering over open air, and though the trees were holding for now, there was no time to waste.
“No!” she called back. She shook each foot to free it of the mud whilst her mind whirled. She did not wish to proceed without her father, but there was no way to know how long it would take for him to arrive.
“Lizzy?” came her sister’s voice at last. “Is that you? I am here!”
“Jane!” Elizabeth shouted in relief, “We are here to help! Remain still!”
Elizabeth climbed halfway up to the road and told Brooks to tie two ropes around the young oak trees on the far side of the road, and to toss her the ends. “Two in case one fails, the longest ropes you have,” she shouted, the water running off the brim of her hat in a steady stream. “We need to double them over. Who is best at knots?”
The men glanced around. “The general,” Brooks said with a concerned shrug.
“He will be here. Just do the best you are able until then,” Elizabeth commanded, and Brooks nodded.
It took a few excruciating minutes for the men to wind the one rope they had that was long enough around an oak and tie it off.